


Behold, The Elephant

by K9Lasko



Category: NCIS
Genre: Absurd, Closeted Character, Community: nfacommunity, Fantasy, Surreal, season 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:09:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7443838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K9Lasko/pseuds/K9Lasko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hard head-slap awakens the psychic-fun-sized-almond in Tony’s brain. This is what happens next…</p><p>Written for the 2016 NFA WEE Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behold, The Elephant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DNAchemLia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DNAchemLia/gifts).



> NFA WEE 2016, written for DNAchemLia's prompt set.
> 
> Rating: Strong FR15 (for violence, language, sexual situations)  
>  Genre: Absurdist/Surreal/Supernatural   
> Characters: Tony DiNozzo, Original Character, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Timothy McGee   
> Spoilers: Possible through season 13   
> Pairing: None between canon characters, although does reference Tony/Abby 
> 
> Special thanks go to Lia (DNAchemLia), for writing the prompt, and to Shay (PhoenixRising360), for all of the moral support. I decided to do something a bit divorced from reality, and darkly whimsical. Partially based on true events.

 

 

 

 

 

"Nothing of him that doth fade,   
but doth suffer a sea change   
into something rich and strange."  
\- William Shakespeare 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 **It started a lot like this:**  
  
The boss hadn’t head-slapped him in years, so when the tradition finally recommenced, Gibbs walloped him good. So good, in fact, that the impact made a loud, ringing “thunk.” Tony winced on cue, and everybody went quiet, until Ellie awkwardly joked that his skull must be hollow.  
  
Tony appreciated the out, and he grinned big and wide as he said, “Good thing, too!”  
  
And off they went. The others had a spring in their step, eager for a new case — sans Gibbs, of course, who was as surly and gruff as usual, and Tony, who had a sudden and curious case of buzzing in his ears that just. wouldn’t. go. away.  
  
_JUST! GO! AWAY! YOU! ANNOYING! BUZZING! WHAT! IS! THIS! ANNOYING! BUZZING!_  
  
“You hear that?” he kept asking Tim, over and over again.  
  
Tim always answered ‘no,’ because he wasn’t crazy and he didn’t have any annoying buzzing going on in his ears. After Tony asked for the fifth time, Tim put a hand on his shoulder and said, “There’s no buzzing, Tony. It must be in your head. Maybe you should get your hearing checked.”

Nobody quite knew how the Elephant Shack had gotten its name, but there it was, still situated on the corner of Broom and Pinckney, where it had always been since the 1970’s. Parking was on-street only, no nearby public lots or garages, so it always took some effort to find a spot and a lot of spare coinage to keep it.  
  
Tony hadn’t been here in a while, and he never thought he’d be back, not since the karaoke incident of 2014 and not since he realized hardly anybody in this town wanted to date a closet case. (They all came to him with young faces and advice like, “Oh hon, you just have to say it.”) He never told them that his life was better off lived as a lie — a sort of double-life, neither entirely authentic.  
  
This was where he tended to end up after the bad break-ups, which were numerous and frequent. Bad break ups from women. And this was where he tended to end up when he thought, 'well, maybe…'  
  
That's the catch and the tiny fine print of this whole deal. There had been no recent break-up this time. No fiery, spiraling relationship wreckage heading toward the sea. There was just Gibbs and their fractured working relationship and the suddenly gigantic emotional gulf that kept growing wider and wider between them (and for no discernible reason.) That was a break-up he hadn’t anticipated — a tectonic shift — and one that hit him hard.  
  
Then there was the buzzing. The buzz... buzz... buzz that made him want to whack his melon against something nice and solid.  
  
The Elephant Shack was mostly as he remembered it. Outside, Roy G. Biv’s flag. No breeze tonight, so it just hung there, greeting patrons, a beacon for those who might be looking for a friendly establishment, and an homage to past struggles. Inside, the environs were shabby and vaguely musty and… familiar. He breathed it in, like he was coming home.  
  
He sat at the bar, all the way at the end where he could put his back up against the wall and just watch. He said hello to the bartender, who was much younger than him and attractive in a way that was almost intimidating, but he was friendly enough and quick to smile. His mouth moved, and Tony had to say, “Pardon?” because it was hard to hear over all the buzzing in his head. He dug in his ear and shook his head, and the bartender gave him a strange look.  
  
Today had been odd.   
  
Ever since the head-slap to end all head-slaps, Tony had felt distant and detached, and every time he caught Gibbs’ eyes, he heard things. Strange things. Deep and secret thoughts that were too jumbled to make any sense of. It freaked him out, so he made sure to quickly look away. For the most part, Gibbs avoided him, so it was less of a problem than it could've been, but Tony wondered – irrationally – if he  _knew_. Maybe the deep and secret thoughts went both ways.  
  
Gibbs never had understood Tony’s quirks, and at best, they were tolerated. Until recently. It was like Gibbs had woken up one morning and realized what a fucking nut his senior field agent could be, and had now decided to punish him for it mercilessly, all-day, every-day.  
  
So, yes. Today had been extra odd, and Tim kept knocking him out of the fog. “You okay?” he would ask.  
  
And Tony would lie, “I’m fine.”  
  
_JUST! FINE! OVER! HERE! BELIEVE! ME! I! AM! UNBELIEVABLY! OK!_  
  
Somebody sat beside him on the next bar stool over, and Tony gave him a once-over.  
  
“You’re back!” The stranger said. He had dark brown eyes and an infectious smile, and he was wearing pants that were entirely too tight. “I remember you.”  
  
Tony gave him a doubtful look. He was good with faces, and this was not a face he thought he'd seen before.  
  
“You used to come here often. Not every night, but some nights,” the stranger went on. “You’d sit right there, where you’re sitting now, and just watch.”  
  
Tony wondered when he’d become the “bar creep” type. Things just kept sinking lower and lower.  
  
“Can I buy you a drink?” the stranger asked. “I think this warrants a drink.”  
  
“No,” Tony said. His cocktail was mostly ice brine now, but he didn’t want another. He wasn’t here to get drunk. That could wait until he was home. He still wasn’t sure why he was here, or when he’d made the decision. Or where he’d parked his car. Or if he’d even driven his car. Or how he’d left work. Or when. Had he just walked off again? He'd done that to Tim at least two times today.  
  
Tim had gotten in his face about it earlier, “Hey, Gibbs is pissed! He was talking to you, and you just walked away!”  
  
The stranger butted in, “Are you always this quiet?”  
  
Tony found that funny, so he looked the stranger in the eye. He couldn’t hear any deep and secret thoughts when their eyes met, not like it had been with Gibbs, but that was probably because they didn’t know each other. “Been a weird day,” Tony said.  
  
“I like weird. Tell me more.”  
  
That last bit got stuck on repeat, like a scratched record.  
  
_“Tell me more. Tell me more. Tell me more. Tell me more. Tell me more.”_

_ _

When he went to bed that night, Tony heard them for the first time. Disembodied voices. So loud and so close, it felt like they were still at that bar. All of them together and all of them talking at once. Laughing.  
  
He didn’t recognize any of them. He thought they might be strangers, but he couldn’t tell for sure, and he thought it would’ve been rude to ask them. When he woke up the next morning for work — and every morning after that — he felt strangely drained.  
  
Alcohol dimmed and muted the dreams, but they never went away. They always came back.

“--should go,” somebody said, close to his ear. Tony didn’t react until they said it again. “You should go.”  
  
They were in-between cases. Nothing to do in the office but paperwork and other busy work. Ellie had already gone home, citing something about a meeting with her divorce attorney.  
  
“What?” Tony said. He looked at Tim, who’d been the one trying to get his attention.  
  
“You’ve been staring at your stapler for a good five minutes,” Tim explained. Then he had a further grievance. “You’ve been weird this whole week.”  
  
“I like weird,” Tony said, repeating what the stranger had told him the other night. He wasn’t exactly a stranger anymore, though. His name was Patrick, and they left the bar together, because Tony couldn’t remember where he’d parked the car. And when they’d finally found it, Patrick asked him what he did for a living, and Tony’d said,  _I’m a cop_. Patrick laughed and they looked at each other, quietly, as it began to drizzle.  
  
He couldn’t remember anything after that. It was a weird blank.  
  
_“I like weird. Tell me more.”_  
  
“You’re doing it again!” Tim accused.  
  
Tony looked at him. “Doing what?”  
  
“Staring at nothing.”  
  
“Just tired. Not enough sleep,” Tony said and ended it at that. He could feel Tim’s eyes on him, and he imagined what they were saying:  _You’re lying._  And when Tony looked at him, he could see it, hear it — he just  _knew_  it. Tim was one who projected his thoughts very clearly, unlike Gibbs.  _“Stop lying to me.”_  
  
In an act of rare kindness, Gibbs cut the both of them loose early. Tony felt relieved because he wanted to do nothing more than to fall asleep somewhere, anywhere – and without those damn voices bandying about his brain. Without Tim tagging along nearby, badgering him. Without Gibbs analyzing him and weighing his worth.  
  
Before he made it on the elevator, Gibbs stopped him and looked him hard in the eyes. Tony wanted to scream.  
  
_STOP! LOOKING! AT! ME! YOU! HAVE! NOTHING! GOOD! TO! SAY!_  
  
“What’s going on with you?” Gibbs asked.  
  
Tony shook his head, but it looked more like a nervous tic. “Nothing.” He ran a hand through his hair and was surprised to feel how long it had gotten.  
  
Gibbs held his gaze, and Tony found himself too afraid to break it. He felt Gibbs’ sentiment, loud and clear, and Tony couldn't deny it.  
  
_YES! I! AM! LYING!_  
  
“See you in the morning, boss,” Tony said.

Things were getting worse. The voices began again; the din closed in around him as soon as he walked through his front door. If possible, they sounded louder now, happier. Everyday, they got louder. More intrusive, obtrusive, all-sorts-of-trusive.  
  
If they didn’t shut up, he’d go crazy. He briefly contemplated driving to the bar again. He also briefly considered calling up Abby and begging her to let him stay the night. If anybody would understand, it would be her. Maybe. They could have a rough and fun fuck on her new bed — the coffin was just for show now — and after, he’d patiently listen to her explain things like tomography and hypostasis and gas chromatography. He could forget about the gay bar and Patrick and telepathy and the voices and the buzzing and what Tim’s face looked like when he knew he was being lied to and why Gibbs had singled him out for destruction.  
  
Instead, he grabbed a tumbler glass and a bottle of Tennessee whiskey. He sank onto the couch, and after a couple inches, the world hummed along and the voices turned into soft murmurs. He began to doze and his mind began to wander.  
  
_He grabbed a tool and settled in for the long haul. He needed the distraction, something to drag his mind away from where DiNozzo might be, what he might be doing, and the fact that every wall they’d met with had been impossible to get around or over or under. And they’d been left with nothing. No leads, no signs, no bread crumbs. Even delusional and on the lamb, DiNozzo was good at his job. If he wanted to stay away, he’d stay away. He’d cover his tracks, and he’d become another person if he had to, and he’d follow through on whatever it was he thought needed to be done._  
  
_Except the secrets DiNozzo was privy to were a matter of national security, and he was the coon all the hounds were out looking for._  
  
_Fornell had called at least a half-dozen times, in warning. Things were hot, and the chatter had just gotten hotter._  
  
_“Find Agent DiNozzo and secure the intel.”_  
  
_Leroy Jethro Gibbs, unwitting God of all men, knew how to read between the lines. These people didn’t have a “wait and see” attitude. The threat was imminent and real, and they’d stop at nothing to neutralize it. He couldn’t stand by and let one of his own become the fall-guy. Could he? He couldn’t let DiNozzo be forced to pay for something he’d never bought into. Could he?_  
  
_He was finishing gently carving out a notch in the wood when he heard something clatter against the concrete floor. He raised his head and, through the boat’s patchwork frame, he caught two very familiar eyes. “Tony?” he asked, rather stupidly, because he knew it was DiNozzo. Looked just like him if it wasn’t for the feral look on his face and the rumpled clothing and the fact that he stunk like sweat and week-old fast food. The shock had made Gibbs pause, and he made sure to stay still even while his brain caught up with the situation._  
  
_Tony was poised to cut and run. He said, voice rough and quiet, “You leave your door unlocked.”_  
  
_Gibbs said nothing. He didn’t nod or otherwise acknowledge him._  
  
_“I came here because I know this place,” Tony went on._  
  
_Again, Gibbs stayed quiet and calm. But there was a twinge in his knee. He shifted his weight, but the slight movement spooked DiNozzo enough to send him back a step._  
  
_“Hey,” Gibbs finally said._  
  
_DiNozzo cocked his head. “I know you. Right?”_  
  
_“Yeah. You know me.”_  
  
_“I can trust you. Right?”_  
  
_A green laser dot suddenly hovered over DiNozzo’s chest, and Gibbs’ eyes widened—_  
  
Tony awoke on his couch, awash in sweat. His condo was silent and empty and a far cry from Gibbs’ basement workshop. He felt his heart pounding against his ribs as he stared at the tall bookcase across the room. He must’ve left the TV on before he fell asleep; he must’ve also put it on mute. All he could see was a blurry image throwing light into the dark room. He couldn’t remember; he’d had too much to drink again.  
  
But then the volume came back. “All of this for three easy payments of 19.95, and if you call now—“ It got loud. Really loud.  
  
Guess he didn’t put it on mute after all. He continued to lay on the couch while his galloping heart slowed to something a bit more reasonable. It was just a dream. Just a dream. A weird dream inside, of all places, Gibbs’ head. Except a weird dream inside Gibbs' head wasn’t a dream at all, it was a damn nightmare. An unnerving one.  
  
_“I like weird. Tell me more.”_  
  
Tony watched the infomercial for several minutes. Minutes bled into an hour. An hour into several hours. He couldn’t sleep. Eventually, dawn began to peek through the blinds, and he knew he should be getting up and taking a shower, but instead he finally began to doze.  
  
The screen changed and the infomercial voice returned, loud and bombastic. It said,  _“Get your dignity back for only three easy payments of 19.95, and if you call now—“_

He had a splitting headache when his phone began to ring.  
  
“Tony!” It was McGee. Always McGee with his hissed, frantic worry which usually meant Gibbs’ was in another mood and the end of times was nigh. Was it morning already? “Where are you? We have a case.”  
  
Tony got up, took a quick shower, and got himself ready for another day — all to an annoying ringing in his ears. He shook his head, but it wouldn’t go away. It never went away.  
  
He turned the radio up loud in the car.  
  
_“…and these are the best and the finest. When Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending their best. They’re not sending you. They’re not sending you. They’re sending people that have lots of problems, and they’re bringing those problems with us. They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists. And some, I assume—“_  
  
He switched stations and let the radio run some lively mariachi music. It reminded him of Mike Franks and Gibbs and when things weren’t so weird and strained and awkward, and it made him smile. As he merged onto the expressway, he swore he saw an elephant loping along the shoulder of the eastbound lanes. As he twisted around in his seat to look, his car swerved across the line and a Mini Cooper’s high pitched horn was the only thing that made him straighten the wheel and reach over to downshift to accommodate the other vehicle’s lane change.  
  
Both hands now clutching the wheel, Tony looked up in the rearview mirror, but all he saw was traffic.

Up on the third floor, he still hadn’t recovered from the elephant sighting. On his work computer, he checked all of the news sites and didn’t see anything about any escaped Proboscideans, and he figured that would be pretty big news, even for a town filled with insane elephants and jackasses alike. He tried all sorts and combinations of search terms, like “expressway elephants,” which turned up nothing but an indie rock band from Detroit.  
  
“Damn it, DiNozzo, how many times do I have to tell you!”  
  
Today’s case had already caught a serious snag, and every new thread they clutched onto had been as non-productive as the last. According to McGee, Hurricane Jethro had raged throughout the night, pounding against all of their defenses, until Tony got there. Which meant Gibbs finally had somebody to sink all his ire into.  
  
Nine a.m. and the squad room buzzed with morning activity. Nobody else had slept or had given it a rest. The case disintegrated upon Ducky’s production of an autopsy report, along with an attached toxicology addendum from Abby, which succinctly quashed any and all speculation as to the dead guy’s involvement. They were effectively thrown violently back to square one.  
  
The winds shifted, and Tim got caught up in the wrath. “That all we got, McGee?” Gibbs asked. He’d been double-fisting black tar-water for the past twelve hours, and he was clearly ready for “square two” to miraculously re-materialize at their feet, as it ought to.  
  
Tim answered, surprisingly stalwart against the pressure. “Right now? Yes, it is. I’ll need to tweak some—“  
  
“Then tweak it!” Gibbs yelled.  
  
Ellie didn’t dare move from her spot. And Ducky, still standing there with a copy of the report in his hands, had also paused to watch.  
  
“C’mon, people!”  
  
“Boss, I think we ought to—“ Tony began to say, but that was clearly a mistake, given the weather report. Tony blinked hard, because his vision was doing something funny. Things began to waver in and out of focus. And there was static closing in from the edges. Sort of like millions of teeny-tiny waves of black and white.  
  
Gibbs turned on his senior field agent with nothing but full-on fury. “And you. Where have you been? What’ve you gotten me so far, huh?”  
  
Tony set his jaw and seemed to settle into a well-established headspace for the duration of yet another verbal ass-kicking.  
  
“What were you doin’ when we were tryin’ to call you in?”  
  
“I wasn’t on call, Boss.”   
  
“That’s convenient, DiNozzo! What were you doin’? Playin’ grab-ass again with your boyfriends?”  
  
Tony’s stomach dropped. Things had gotten weird. Correction:  _Weirder_. The buzzing intensified.  
  
_“I like weird. Tell me more.”_  
  
Tony shifted his weight and attempted get out of Gibbs’ space, but he hit the edge of McGee’s desk and there wasn’t anywhere else to go. That was warning number one.  
  
Gibbs went on, “You realize a Navy dependent was killed, right? A child. Or did you forget that fact while you were out there wasting all of our time?”  
  
“Hey now,” Tony said, quietly, as he began to rub at the back of his neck. That was warning number two.  
  
“I need answers, DiNozzo! I need results!”  
  
Tony looked away, looked everywhere but at Gibbs’ eyes. Because he knew what they’d be saying, and he didn’t want to know. That was warning number three.  
  
Leaning in even closer, Gibbs demanded, “I need you to—“  
  
That was like a match tossed into a barrel of gasoline. Tony’s explosion was brief but violent. “I need YOU to BACK OFF!” he shouted as he shoved two hands into Gibbs chest and pushed.  
  
Gibbs grabbed Tony’s elbow, hard, and gave him a return shove into the side of the desk, upsetting a lamp. The bulb smashed against the side of the desk as it hung there, swinging by the power cord.  
  
“Jethro!” Ducky exclaimed in shock, while Ellie had gotten up from her desk and stood awkwardly on the periphery, afraid to get in the way of the shoving match. Other blank faces paused to watch with unguarded curiosity.  
  
Gibbs attempted to hold Tony against the desk, but Tony, being both bigger and stronger, managed to wrench himself away, but not before sending a container of paperclips and an office phone hurtling to the floor.  
  
That was when Tim finally reacted and went to intercept Tony from going after Gibbs again. It didn’t seem likely, as Tony was staying far away by choice. Tim said something but all he could see was his mouth moving. Tony felt him put a hand on his back as he was guided further away. Tony shook and trembled. He could hear nothing but high-pitched ringing and strange booming, like he’d put his head underwater and stopped breathing.  
  
Gibbs still looked riled and stared across the top of the cubicle walls at the side of Tony’s head.  _Come back over here and I'll kill you._  
  
“Jethro, stop antagonizing him!” Ducky said.  
  
There! He could hear that, with his ears not his head.  
  
Tony caught Gibbs’ eyes briefly and tensed. “Tony,” Tim distracted him, nudging him on the arm. “Come on. What’s the matter with you?”  
  
He could definitely hear again!  
  
Suddenly, everything stopped. The reel of film had fallen off of the projector. There was nothing but white screen and black blotches. Must be dust on the lens… And then someone reached for the remote and the channel switched.  
  
Jogging down the steps, Director Vance looked fit to be tied. He glanced first at DiNozzo, who looked both pissed off and shaken up at the same time. The man wasn’t talking, or even trying to explain himself – which felt odd. He just stood there, shaking his head like he had something stuck in it. So Vance instructed McGee, “Get him out of here. Go to a conference room. Calm him down.” He turned to the gawkers. “Go on, the excitement is over.”  
  
He watched McGee walk Tony away, and once they were out of sight, he honed in on Gibbs. “What did I just witness here?” Vance barked. He looked at both Ducky and Ellie, and then at Gibbs himself.  
  
“Just a difference of opinion,” Gibbs answered. He straightened out his suit jacket and returned to his desk, where he sat, like nothing had happened – despite the broken lamp and the stuff strewn all over the floor. “Bishop, can you tweak whatever it is that Tim said he needed to tweak. We need to get back to work. We have a child murderer out there. We need to figure this out!”  
  
“It’s been reassigned,” Vance said coolly.  
  
Gibbs argued, “No, we’re on this case, Leon. We’ll finish it.”  
  
“Down a man?”  
  
“DiNozzo will get over himself in an hour or two,” Gibbs said.  
  
Leon Vance’s mind, even while angry, was a very calm place to be. Everything was organized and principled.  
  
Tony felt himself wanting to stay.  
  
But, again, everything suddenly fell apart, and the film reel got hung up on something. There was nothing but white and black blotches. And, again, the channel switched. That’s what it felt like. Just a sudden switch to another scene.  
  
Tony found himself as himself again… staring out from his own two eyes at the expanse of conference table that stretched toward the far wall.  
  
“Your conduct was unbecoming,” Vance was saying, “and quite frankly, extremely out of character. What’s going on?”  
  
Tony heard himself talking in his own voice. “I know. I have no excuse for myself. I just… I don’t know. I lost my cool, I guess.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Vance asked again.   
  
“Difference of opinion.”  
  
“That’s funny. That’s exactly what Agent Gibbs told me.”  
  
“Yeah, well, people say we’re a lot alike.” Briefly, Tony wanted to say that he’d just been inside Vance’s head… being Vance. And before that, he’d been inside McGee’s head. And he’d been in Gibbs’ head too, and it was no picnic.  
  
“Look, I know things have been tense.”  
  
Tony looked up.   
  
“Between you and Gibbs. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Been like that ever since--”  
  
“Dorneget,” Tony answered for him.  
  
“I was going to say, ever since Gibbs got shot, but…” He let it hang.  
  
_GET! YOUR! DIGNITY! BACK! FOR! ONLY! THREE! EASY! PAYMENTS! ARE! YOU! GONNA! DIE! IN! THE! CLOSET! JUST! LIKE! HIM!_  
  
Tony leaned back in the chair, crossed his arms and let out a breath. Things were tense all right. Apparently, his mind was already starting to snap.  
  
“You gonna clam up, DiNozzo? Or are you gonna talk to me about whatever it is you’re going through? I know you and I were never the best of friends, but it’s different now. You and I both know that.”  
  
Tony chewed his lip and looked away.  _I’m nuts. I’m nuts. I’m nuts._  
  
“If you’re bored with the job, I can help you out with that. A change of scenery has done remarkable things for other agents’ careers.”  
  
“I wasn’t a fan of the boat assignment.”  
  
Vance chuckled. “I know. That’s why I chose it. I know you’re the kind of man who needs to be pushed… but not pushed around. Right?”  
  
“What can I say? I’ve always had a rather sweet disposition. I’m patient. I’m tolerant.” He smiled. “And I’m fucking crazy.”  
  
But then somebody changed the channel. Or maybe he changed it himself. Either way, he doesn’t think he has a choice.  
  
_“Get your dignity back for only three easy payments of 19.95, and if you call now—“_

“Hey.” The voice came out from the background and somehow cut above all of those annoying reverberations going on around him. The little noises dug into his ears where they bored down deep, and deeper still, until that was all he could hear and feel and smell and taste. He began to shiver, inexplicably and despite the warm blanket of heat wrapping around him.   
  
“DiNozzo? DiNozzo.”  
  
He knew his name. Big and booming. He didn’t want to answer to it; he didn’t want to answer to anything, or anyone.  
  
“Tony!”  
  
“What?” Tony asked, blinking at the room. It was painted all in orange and kept dimly lit. He could feel his chair under him. Both Tim and Ellie stared at him in alarm from their spots in front of the plasma screen, while Gibbs stood over him and looked down on him with an inscrutable look on his face. Soon, it morphed into a frown.  
  
He glanced to where he knew he’d find Ducky with that autopsy report in his hands. It blew the case apart, and left them with no leads.  
  
Gibbs turned to Tim. “That all we got, McGee?”  
  
And McGee replied, “Right now? Yes, it is. I’ll need to tweak some—“  
  
Tony knew  _exactly_  what Gibbs would say next. The scene was repeating itself.  
  
Gibbs said, “Then tweak it!”  
  
A pause. Tony felt Bishop’s eyes on him as his hands began to shake. He hid them under his desk.  
  
“C’mon people!” Gibbs yelled.  
  
He was getting sucked into the script, and he knew he didn’t want to go there. To be honest, the previous altercation had freaked him out. He could still hear Gibbs saying all those ugly things and feel Gibbs’ hand gripping his elbow and feel his body pushing him into the edge of that desk. And he felt it, the anger oozing out, all of it meant for Tony. It had all felt so real.  
  
He jerked up from his chair, met Gibbs’ angry blue eyes, and blurted, ridiculously, “Dentist appointment, Boss.” With no further explanation, he grabbed his backpack and almost tripped over the corner of his desk. It didn’t slow his progression to the stairwell. This wasn’t a good time to wait for the elevator.   
  
The weight bearing down on his chest let up some as soon as his feet hit the concrete of the parking garage, and he let out a breath of relief when he finally reached his rental car. He hated the stupid thing for its sticky clutch, and he couldn’t wait to be through with the lease period, but all the same, he was glad to see it. He got in, slammed the door, and headed out. When he looked down to turn on the a/c, he noticed the digital clock read 5:13.   
  
He let out a breathy laugh, and said to himself, “Dentist appointment. Stupid.” He passed security going a bit faster than he ought to. “You’re losing it, Anthony. Really losing it.”  
  
Hadn’t it been morning in the previous rendition of this?  
  
_YOU’RE! REALLY! LOSING! IT! NOW!_  
  
Tony drove aimlessly, using memory alone to navigate through the city neighborhoods that didn’t differ very much from one another. He figured that maybe he’d get lost, if he were really crazy, or maybe he’d lapse into another bizarre fugue state and he wouldn’t know where he’d end up next.  
  
This city, the part where the normal people actually lived, was eye-catchingly ugly, and it seemed to stretch out in every direction in a sea of blighted, aging concrete. It wasn’t the same kind of ugly Baltimore had been. That had been more of a sinister ugly, a heartbreaking kind of ugly that could only be tempered by the beauty of certain personalities. But here in this city, driving down street after street of pot-holed avenues, he found zero solace in any kind of beauty. Clouds hung leaden in the sky above. Single family homes, kept secure by barred windows and rusty lopsided chain link, gradually gave way to drab, unhappy row houses inhabited by drab, unhappy people.  
  
An old man sat outside in a half-broken lawn chair, and he stared as Tony drove past.  
  
Tony downshifted, and the clutch stuck. The gears ground, and he swore while his cell phone began to chime from the passenger seat. He pulled over onto a weedy patch of easement and imagined all of the nails his tires could be picking up. Good. Fucking car.  
  
“What is it, Tim?” he asked into the phone, impatient.  
  
“You really at the dentist?”  
  
“No,” Tony answered honestly. Rain began to fall and it pattered noisily on the windshield. He glanced at the rear-view mirror and noticed the old man had gone inside. But beside the lawn chair, there was an elephant. Tony almost dropped the phone. “Tim, there’s a—“ he stopped himself just in time.  
  
_There’s an elephant out here in the hood and I’m looking at him._  
  
He couldn’t say that, so he switched on the wipers and stared ahead at a gate-less railroad crossing and the big gray abandoned building behind it. When he looked back into the mirror, all he could see was the lawn chair.  
  
Tim was saying. “What’s going on with you?”  
  
“Nothing.” Tony’s lie was less damning than the truth.  _I’m going nuts over here, Tim._  
  
“Well, we have a lead.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“And Gibbs is pissed at you.”  
  
Tony said nothing for a while. Of course he was pissed. Then finally, “What kind of lead?”  
  
“Friend of the victim’s family. Look, we don’t have enough to actually bring him in, and he didn’t seem interested in speaking with us. He currently lives in Anacostia.”  
  
“Where in Anacostia? Big place.” It wasn’t really.  
  
“Uh—“  
  
Tony could hear papers rustling as he continued to stare at the railroad crossing. The weedy length of track looked relatively unused, yet the road was marked by stop signs in both directions. He watched several drivers barely brake as they went over the tracks. It seemed not stopping at the signs was a habitual thing, more than likely because nobody had ever seen a train here in a very long time.  
  
“The far end of Wells Avenue,” McGee said. “You know, over by that old paper mill.”  
  
Tony did know. He was looking right at it.  
  
“Tony?” McGee asked, because Tony had gone silent.  
  
_I’m looking right at it,_  he wanted to say. Instead he said, “I have an idea. I’m coming back to the office. Just a hunch I have.”  
  
“Tony,” Tim warned, “Gibbs isn’t in a mood for ‘just a hunch.’”  
  
“Gut feeling. Better?” But Tony didn’t wait for a goodbye or a see you soon. He hung up the phone and pulled back out onto the road. He rolled through the stop sign and headed back toward the Navy Yard, trying to ignore the irritating buzz going on in his ears. He switched the radio on.  
  
_“…she’s been there for so long. I mean, if she hasn’t straightened it out by now, she’s not going to straighten it out in the next four years. It’s just going to become worse and worse. She wants to make America whole again and I’m trying to figure out what is that all about. Make America great again is going to be much better than—“_  
  
He turned the radio off. It hadn’t helped with the buzzing anyway.

Back at work, Gibbs met him at the elevator, which was odd, because Leroy Jethro Gibbs was more the type of man to stew silently in his own corner. “Did the dentist help you out with that filthy mouth of yours?” he asked.  
  
And Tony stared at him, dumbfounded.  
  
“I know what you are and what you do.”  
  
“Boss?”  
  
The buzz grew louder and louder and louder and louder and louder and louder.  
  
The elephant came back. The end of its enormous trunk was probing Gibbs’ shoulder. Then it moved up to his hair, mussing up that ridiculous haircut. The animal was so close, Tony could see its rough gray hide and all the calloused elephant wrinkles.  
  
It was truly amazing.  
  
The channel switched.  
  
_“Get your dignity back for only three easy payments of 19.95, and if you call now—“_

Tony jerked awake, and he leaned over the side of the couch and vomited. He stared at the mess slowly sinking into the area rug while the voices went on as they had for the past few days. He moaned into his couch and into a throw pillow that smelled faintly like popcorn, and that’s when the seizure began.  
  
_SOMETHING! IS! GOING! TO! HAPPEN! TO! US! WHY! AREN’T! YOU! STOPPING! IT!_

He and Patrick stood in the drizzly rain. They’d found his car, the rental car that he hated because every other car that became his inevitably got destroyed. Funny parallel, because every relationship he ever started inevitably got destroyed. So, not exactly a parallel, but close enough. An obtuse allegory.   
  
Patrick stared at him and said, “I feel like there’s a reason we met each other.”  
  
Tony doubted that, because everything he ever touched turned to dust, and if Patrick had any sense at all, he'd run and he'd keep running.

He couldn’t find his suit jacket, but he did find a slip of paper on the floor. He stumbled as he picked it up, and he had to screw up his eyes to read it because his handwriting had gotten so poor.  
  
Grocery list:  
  
Lettuce  
Eggs  
Milk  
Bread  
Chives  
Paper towels  
Condoms  
Deodorant  
My dignity

He kept going to work, despite the growing mania and despite the fact that it seemed he could hear each and every one of his coworker’s thoughts, and could see certain situations play out by memory alone. He resisted the urge to stand in the middle of the bullpen and exclaim something crazy like, "Guess what? I'm psychic!"  
  
At his desk, his mind wandered and hiked through the unknown wilds of his own subconscious.  
  
In a surprising leap of faith, he’d gone to Patrick’s house over the weekend, and through the early Sunday morning gloom of the bedroom, Tony had asked him if he believed in psychics.   
  
He got a smile, a laugh, and an answer: “I love your imagination.”  
  
But Tony was stuck on his question. He spoke to Patrick’s ceiling fan. “I’m not sure if I do.”  
  
Patrick changed the subject, “Let’s go to the zoo and see the elephant exhibit.”  
  
“The what?” Tony said in alarm.  
  
“The elephant exhibit. They just refurbished it. What’s wrong?”  
  
Something dropped on his desk. Tony flinched and looked up.  
  
“Gibbs wants you downstairs,” Tim said.  _I wish you’d just tell me the truth._  
  
“What’s going on?” Tony asked.  
  
Tim wasn’t smiling. “US drone strike killed an NCIS agent abroad. Gibbs was her handler.”  
  
Tony leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms. “Her handler? Didn’t even know he was on anything like that. What’s he need me for?”   
  
“He didn’t say.”

Downstairs, in one of the video conferencing rooms, Tony had just watched a video of this man’s sister getting blown up by a drone strike, and he’d also watched the video of her dead body being dragged out of the still-smoking rubble and disappearing into a mob of angry human limbs. No one could decided whether to call this a genuine fuck-up or just an extreme run-in with bad luck.  
  
“The intelligence was bad,” SecNav Sarah Porter explained, as she watched the video footage play out over and over again, on some kind of sick loop. “We’re so, so very sorry, Corporal Sal. You have our deepest condolences.”  
  
And Tony watched that man — who seemed to absorb the knowledge his sister was dead with the blank and unseeing stare of the truly aggrieved. Tony shut his eyes and looked away, and he fought the urge to grab his hair and tug at it. He couldn’t hear anything else above the buzzing.  
  
_YOU! COULD! HAVE! STOPPED! THIS! WHY! DIDN’T! YOU! STOP! THIS!_  
  
So it was understandable, in a basic twisted way, why Hugo Sal had chosen this next route. Understandable, but not logical – and now, with the building on near, hysterical lockdown, it had boiled down to Tony and Gibbs and their own elephant in the corner of the room.  
  
The elephant. It swung its trunk around and its huge tusks flashed in the fluorescent lights from above.  
  
Sal was an expert in chemical weapons. He knew what had happened to his sister, and he knew who had failed her. And he was gonna teach someone a lesson.  
  
_NOT! GOOD! ENOUGH! NOT! GOOD! ENOUGH! NOT! GOOD! ENOUGH!_

“We didn’t know she was in there, Boss,” he remembered saying to Gibbs in the quiet of the hallway.  
  
But what Gibbs lacked in any and all psychic abilities, he’d gained in pure venom. He stared straight through Tony’s skull, and he said, “Not good enough, DiNozzo.”  
  
“You’re right. Let’s rewind. Do you have the remote?”  
  
Gibbs looked at him like he was crazy.  
  
“Oh, that’s right. You don’t have one.”

“Hey, hey – You really wanna do that?” Tony asked as he stared Hugo Sal down.  
  
“Yes.” Hugo made a move to drop the canister into one of the air vents.  
  
But Tony held up a hand. “Hey, no, no. Wait a minute. I have questions. I’m just curious.”  
  
“You’re here to stop me.” The young man looked at the gun Tony held. “Put the gun down.”  
  
Tony hesitated.   
  
The man threatened, “I’ll open it up right here. In this room. Then we’ll all be dead, you, me, your partner back there, and your elephant over there. Put it down, or I’ll open it. I swear I will!” He meant the canister, of course.  
  
“I’m not afraid of that,” Tony said. “Go ‘head. Open it up in here. But don’t drop it down that vent.”  
  
“You know what this does?” Hugo shook the canister.  
  
“I’m aware. I’ve seen what it does.”  _I’m living it right now, I think, whatever this is. Is it such a bad thing?_  
  
“But have you felt it? It chokes you. Steals control of your body, but you still feel everything. Things get real quiet or real loud. You hear voices. You start seeing things that aren’t real. You start imagining things that become real. You become other people. And then you seize and seize and seize, until you die. You want me to open it? Here?”  
  
“Just don’t drop it down that vent. That’s all I’m asking.”  
  
“Put the gun down and leave me alone,” the man demanded again. “That’s all I’m asking. Let me do what I have to do.”  
  
Again, Tony hesitated. But Gibbs interjected, “You’re a disgrace to your country, Sal. It didn’t need to come to this. Your sister was a true patriot. She died for her country.”  
  
And the man stilled and a strange look came over his face. He jerkily thrust open the vent cover and aimed to chuck the thing in. “You shut the fuck up!”  
  
“NO!” Tony exclaimed. He moved to block Gibbs from Hugo’s view. “You’re not a disgrace. Not at all. I understand. You’ve got a point to make. I can understand that. What happened to your sister, it wasn’t fair.”   
  
Hugo stared at him.  
  
Tony kept talking. “Look, I’m putting my weapon down. Let’s just talk about it, okay?” He set the gun down carefully. Hugo watched him closely, canister poised over the now open vent. His hand shook. “Let’s talk about it, just you and me. Two people. Let’s talk. Tell me about what’s going on. I’m a great listener. All ears, okay?”  
  
“Kick it away.” Hugo gestured at the gun.  
  
Tony kicked it away. “Can we talk about it now?”  
  
Hugo considered it. Then he saw Gibbs move, and he locked his eyes on him and came up with a new demand. “He leaves.”  
  
Tony turned slightly, eyes switching from his boss to Hugo. Then back again.  
  
“I’m staying right here,” Gibbs announced.  
  
“He wants you to go,” Tony said.  
  
“He’s not in charge here. I am,” Gibbs argued. “Colonel Sal. Hand over the canister.”  
  
Hugo let out a brittle, semi-hysterical laugh. He glared at Tony and then spoke directly at Gibbs. “Okay, so if you’re in charge, old man, who’s this guy? Your bitch?”  
  
Gibbs’ hand hovered over his own weapon, but he didn’t draw it for fear that the canister would be dropped. “We’re giving you a choice here, Sal. Choose the right option, and we can forget this even happened.”  
  
Hugo laughed again. “I have plenty of choices, thank you. You? Not so much. I think I’ll stick with your bitch here. But--” He reached for a little pistol he’d been keeping in the waistband of his BDUs, and without hesitation he pointed it at Tony’s face.  
  
For the first time, Tony realized just how uncomfortably close he was to this man, no more than six feet.  
  
“Think he’d look a lot prettier with a bullet in his head. Wouldn’t he? Back off! Both of you. The elephant, too. And you, old man. You need to leave. Don’t make me ask again!”  
  
There was a lot left unsaid in the intense gaze Gibbs kept on him, and Tony began to worry that Gibbs had no intention of following anybody’s requests right now. He swallowed and kept his eyes on Hugo and on the muzzle of that little pistol. “You have to, Boss,” he said. He couldn’t forget that damned canister, either, ready to spread its death with one final drop down a narrow shaft. He couldn’t risk this situation being real. He glanced at the elephant. Its trunk was pushing up on some of the tiles of the drop-ceiling.  
  
Real or not real. Real or not real.  
  
“Listen to pretty boy here,” Hugo said. “He’s a real thinker.”  
  
“No.” Gibbs knew how to meet stubborn with stubborn. Or stupid with stubborn. Or the other way around. Didn’t matter. But Tony had known what was going to come out of Gibbs’ mouth probably before Gibbs himself did. That’s the thing about partners – and friends. No matter how far they drifted apart, there was a basic connection that never went away.  
  
“Are you deaf? Or just stupid?” Hugo screamed, “Listen to him!” He pressed and held down the button, and the canister made a strange noise as it bobbled dangerously in his hand.  
  
Tony lurched forward, but Hugo was quick. He stepped toward Tony and slammed the gun into his face, stunning him.  
  
“What did you do?” Tony asked through the sting of the pistol whipping. There was a bunch of chatter in Tony’s ear now, and he struggled to filter it out. He heard Tim’s voice loud and clear:  _It’s the activation switch. If he drops it now, it’ll begin to release the gas. Don’t let him let go of that button._  
  
Tony batted at his ear, because he didn’t remember wearing any kind of ear device.  
  
_GET! OUT! OF! MY! HEAD!_  
  
Hugo gave him a look, but his answer was simple. “I’m letting you know how serious I am. He leaves.”  
  
“Gibbs, you have to go.” Tony tried to moderate his voice, but it still came out too fast and too high-pitched.  
  
There wasn’t time for any goodbyes. The door swooshed open. Gibbs and Tony shared a brief parting look.  _Another mistake, DiNozzo._  
  
“Buh-bye.” Hugo waved.  
  
“Wait!” Tony yelled.  
  
But the door swooshed shut, leaving Tony alone in here with Hugo and the activated canister of poison gas and the fates of dozens of NCIS and Navy personnel on the line, and an elephant. An imaginary elephant.  
  
He hadn’t addressed it, the elephant in the room, and he might have just missed his last chance.  
  
Real or not real, Tony had never felt more alive. He heard McGee in his ear, murmuring something about evacuations.  
  
“Lock it,” Hugo demanded.  
  
Tony stared at him and played dumb – or concussed. Either, or. Same, same.  
  
“The door, dummy!”  
  
Tony locked the door; his hands did not even shake.  
  
Things dimmed around him, and he felt like he was staring at a TV, watching himself talk someone down.

_“What do you want to be remembered for? Those people down there? They are sons, daughters, sisters, brothers. Mothers. Fathers. They are just people, like me and you. Like your family, and your friends.”_  
  
_“It is justice for your crimes. You need to pay. My sister. She didn’t have a choice. You knew she was there, but you killed her anyway. You knew she was there! I heard everything!”_  
  
_“I get it. What we do is wrong. The drones…”_  
  
_“And what’s worse you make these decisions knowing full well who’s probably there.”_  
  
_“The people you’re threatening don’t make the decisions. The people who make the decisions aren’t even here. We’re just people, like you. We’re just people!”_

The channel changed, and Tony felt searing heat lance through his head. He fell to his knees and cradled his skull.  
  
Hugo Sal began to look more and more frazzled, more and more rattled, and more and more like he’d be making a big decision soon. He kept the gun trained on Tony, just to be safe. “What the hell is wrong with you?”  
  
“You smashed me in the face with a piece of metal,” Tony shot back.   
  
“No. You look all weird. Where’d you go just then? Before? Like you just, checked out.”  
  
“Nowhere,” Tony answered. “I’ve been here the entire time.”  
  
He began to mutter to himself. Tony fought the urge to throw up.  
  
“Thing is, I don’t think she’s dead,” Hugo murmured. “I never thought she was dead.”  
  
“She is. You saw the report. You saw the video. You were right there with us.”  
  
“No proof. I think you’re hiding her. Brain-washing her. Making her into a spy.”  
  
“That sounds crazy. Why would we do that?”  
  
“Because that’s what you people do. You prey on the vulnerable and the weak. My kid sister deserved your protection!”  
  
“Of course she did! She was one of our own. Hugo—you know everybody tried their best to get her out. My boss, the one you kicked out of here—he tried so hard and it broke his heart.” That was a lie. Tony knew nothing of what Gibbs' had done to protect this man's sister. But if he knew Gibbs, his lie was an educated guess  
  
“You think I wanna hear his sob story? You think I give a fuck what that bastard thinks or feels?”  
  
“No, I don’t.”  
  
“Then shut the fuck up. You’re one of them!”   
  
“One of who?”  
  
“The beasts.” Hugo’s face was twisted now into something truly grotesque. Tears bled from his eyes and mixed with the ropes of snot dripping from flared nostrils. “The beasts!” And just like that, Hugo dropped the canister, calling out: “Amazing grace!”   
  
Tony barely had time to blink before the man was on top of him, digging painfully in his ear with his fingers while chanting, “Who are you listening to, huh? Who’s listening in, huh? Don’t think I didn’t notice!”  
  
There was the deafening bugle of an elephant and then the ground began to shake until the entire scene began to bleed away. The picture melted and morphed, like clay on a pottery wheel.   
  
The channel changed, and Tony could swear he heard his own voice speaking his own words, but he couldn’t understand them. There was nothing left but himself and an empty echo.

Tony came to on the wrong side of paradise. His brain felt like it was pulsating against his skull, and there was something searing through his lower back, something like a hot poker pulled fresh from some fire. He rolled over and vomited. It hit the ground with a noisy splat, and when he opened his eyes, his vision was blurry and distorted, as if his eyes were crossed.   
  
Then he remembered Hugo Sal and the canister and Gibbs leaving him and the elephant in that room.  
  
Tony surged upright into a seated position, then almost toppled over again. He needed a second fucking wind.  _Come on, Anthony,_  he murmured to himself, and the wheels in his brain began to slowly creak back into working order. Something warm and human gripped both of his biceps.  
  
The poison gas! Were people already dying? He didn’t even know how long he’d been out, and he didn’t even know how he’d been so easily taken to the floor… It wasn’t real, or was it? It was eerily quiet in here, either that or he’d gone deaf.  
  
Wait! He wasn’t in that room anymore. He was in autopsy, on one of the tables. He blinked his eyes and tried hard to uncross them. He saw a familiar face in front of his. Ducky? Was it Ducky? His lips were moving. The eyes behind the spectacles were sharp and blue. They looked worried.  
  
Tony opened his mouth and said something, but he couldn’t hear what it was. 

“Is he okay?” Abby asked while she wrung her hands and stood safely off to the side.  
  
She watched Tony’s drunken movements and how Ducky spoke to him, close to his face.  
  
When Tony finally spoke, his voice was strange and too loud. “He dropped the canister!”  
  
“Can you not hear me, Anthony?”  
  
“He dropped the canister!”  
  
“We do not know what you are talking about.”  
  
“Get everybody out! You all have to leave!”  
  
Ducky placed a hand on Tony’s cheek in an uncharacteristic gesture of comfort. “ _Please_  calm down.”  
  
Tony was breathing in and out so hard, he felt like he was using all the oxygen in Autopsy with one single breath. His eyes focused wildly on Ducky.  
  
“You’re hyperventilating,” Ducky explained.  
  
Tony let Ducky push his body back down. He saw Gibbs lurking several feet away. Slowly, he began to get a handle on his wild panting. After a while, he closed his eyes, embarrassed, and managed to ask, “What happened?”  
  
“You zoned out up there in the squad room,” Gibbs said. “Then, you just fell over. Got you down here, and you came out of it and started hollering.”  
  
“That it?” Tony asked.  
  
“That not enough?” Gibbs shot back.  
  
“Seems enough to me,” Ducky remarked. “I’m wondering if you had a seizure. Did you have to go back to the dentist’s office? Did you have some sort of procedure done? Did they put you under?”  
  
“No,” Tony said as he surged back upright. “No, I’m fine. Truth is, I haven’t been sleeping, or eating right.”  _And every night I hear the voices, and they won’t leave me alone. And I’m going crazy, Ducky. You wouldn’t understand. And I keep having these dreams in Gibbs’ head, everybody’s heads, but they’re of me, and I’m running, I’m running from something— And there’s an elephant. Always an elephant—_  
  
Gibbs seemed doubtful, as did Ducky. But Tony stared at them hard and tried his best to portray nothing but stony calmness. “Been a difficult month. It’s catching up on me.”  
  
“Tony—“ Ducky began to say, “You’re in need of an exam. Maybe you should consider—“  
  
But Gibbs interrupted him, while still looking at Tony. “You heard him, Duck. He’s fine. Probably just the laughing gas or something. You know how it goes.” He reached out and took the younger man by the bicep with surprising gentleness. “C’mon. Up up.”  
  
Tony was grateful for an out, but he stumbled through his first two steps before he regained control of the whole walking thing. When they got into the elevator, Tony was relieved because an elevator was much too small for an elephant to fit, and maybe they could have an open and frank discussion without their elephant listening in. Maybe they could leave all the weirdness behind them.   
  
Gibbs flipped the stop switch. They both stood there in the near darkness until finally Gibbs said, “If you’re not fine, you better let me know.”  
  
Then, Tony saw it. Their elephant, or at least its reflection. He stared at it over Gibbs’ shoulder, until he felt calloused fingers grip his chin hard, forcibly moving his gaze from the elephant’s reflection. “What’re you looking at?” Gibbs asked, eyes narrowed in question.  
  
Tony said nothing, but their gazes were stuck on each other, and Tony could hear too many deep and secret thoughts.  _I’m not afraid to take your badge if I have to. You need to tell me what’s going on._  
  
Tony continued to give him nothing but silence, and finally, Gibbs nodded.  
  
_GO! AHEAD! TAKE! IT! TAKE! IT! TAKE! IT!_  
  
“Rewind,” Tony relented. “Just hit rewind.”

Tony followed Gibbs into MTAC, simply because Gibbs had — for once — said ‘DiNozzo, you’re with me.’ Tony suspected it was because of his bizarre behavior. His off-footed hysteria about a situation that hadn’t, as far as he could tell, happened. He’d even touched his face all over. He couldn’t feel so much as a bruise from any pistol-whipping. No marks from the crazed Corporal Hugo Sal as he had attempted to claw his eardrum out.  
  
But as they rushed through the door, the first person Tony saw was Corporal Hugo Sal. Tony’s eyes widened and he stared, and his hand immediately went to his mouth as he gnawed on his cuticles. The corporal gave him a strange look and moved to the other side of the room, and frankly, Tony couldn’t blame him but neither could Tony really blame himself.  
  
“These are Agents DiNozzo and Gibbs,” Vance spoke up, “And they’ll be looking in on this mission. Now it’s our understanding that the farmhouse presently under surveillance is harboring at least one known terrorist who is of strategic importance to ISIL…”  
  
SecNav Porter broke in, “And several hostages might also be kept there, which is why we’re advocating for a SEAL team ground mission rather than a drone strike. At the very least, more surveillance and an airstrike.”  
  
Looking briefly around the room, Tony could instantly tell that there were plenty of bigwigs in attendance, either in the flesh or via video conference, and that fact made him chew even harder on his fingers. SecNav Porter and a high ranking admiral stood there beside Vance, and on video there was the Commander of the Central Command and another guy who Tony couldn’t name but who looked dour enough to be sufficiently high-ranking.  
  
“No,” the unfamiliar guy said, “chatter indicates our targets might be moving out within the next 24 hours, so we need to make a decision. Sooner the better. These people do not stay in one place for long.”  
  
The Commander himself nodded his assent and said rather definitively, “Take ‘em out.”  
  
“And the possible hostages?” SecNav Porter helpfully addressed for Corporal Sal’s benefit, who stood quietly in the corner.  
  
“Their locations are unknown and based entirely on unreliable hearsay. We can’t let this opportunity pass by because of hearsay and false intelligence.”  
  
Tony knew exactly how this story ended, because he’d just violently participated in the fallout of this one particular drone strike. Corporal Hugo Sal wasn’t just a humanitarian-minded man concerned over the welfare of defenseless hostages; his sister was somewhere out there – more specifically, she was in that building that was about to get blown sky-high in the pursuit of terrorists. He wondered if whatever had transpired afterward would soon be fact, if Corporal Sal would actually become a terrorist himself, or if – possibly – it was simply a product of Tony’s over-active imagination.   
  
He wiped his hands against his pants, and he briefly felt Gibbs’ eyes glide over him. Tony wondered if Gibbs could feel something, too. If he knew what Tony knew. Maybe an after-effect of the weird dreams was some kind of a psychic link between himself and Gibbs… Immediately after he thought that, he laughed inwardly at his own insanity.  
  
“Let’s do this,” the Commander said.  
  
But Tony had to interrupt, and his voice sounded stronger than he expected it to. “She’s in there.”  
  
Everybody looked at him, and SecNav Porter practically drilled her eyes through him as she asked, “Who’s in there?”  
  
“Lara Echevarria,” Tony answered. “NCIS agent on special assignment. Haven’t you been briefed on her?”  
  
“Yes,” Porter replied. She glanced at Gibbs, who looked genuinely surprised.  
  
“Well, she’s one of the hostages, and she’s in there,” Tony said.  
  
“How do you know this?” the angry-looking guy said.   
  
"How do you know this?" Gibbs repeated.  
  
“I don’t know… Gut feeling. I just know. Take it or leave it.” Tony swallowed nervously.  
  
“Who are you?” angry guy grilled him.  
  
Vance spoke up, face a bit stony, “He’s Special Agent DiNozzo, and—“ Vance gripped Tony by the upper arm, aiming to steer him toward the door, “—he’s coming with me. Proceed.”  
  
“No, wait,” Tony said. He looked back at the screen. He remembered watching the footage of the strike. No one came in or out of the house until the missile blew it to hell, but Lara’s body had been found in the courtyard, or what was left of it, at least. “The courtyard.”  
  
“Start making sense, Agent DiNozzo,” the Commander said.  
  
Tony could feel Hugo Sal’s eyes on him, but he was staying quiet. “She’s in the courtyard. Look in the courtyard.”  
  
The angle of the video obscured most of the courtyard, except for the portion closest to the house. He looked at the time stamp on the video, which was already at least five minutes after the time stamp of the blast… or at least when the blast was supposed to happen. Tony’s hands were shaking.  
  
There! Movement in the courtyard. And it was her! Tony looked around, just to confirm the others were seeing what he was seeing. Quite frankly, he didn’t exactly trust himself with what was real, and what wasn’t real anymore.   
  
“I’ll approve a ground operation,” the Commander finally said. He wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Let’s get going on it.”  
  
Tony almost didn’t realize he was being removed by Vance. He still had a hand on his bicep, and now he was being led along gently yet firmly down a long hallway he knew was more than familiar. At least it should be after working here for fifteen years. He sat in a chair at a conference table, and he just now realized that Gibbs was also by his side.  
  
“Gut feeling?” Vance asked, voice sharp and critical. “Tell me what this damn  _gut feeling_  is, or I’ll fire you right here and now, and you won’t get within 100 miles of another government job.”  
  
Slowly, Tony realized that Vance was talking to him. “I can’t explain it.”  
  
“What are you into, DiNozzo?”  
  
“What’s that even mean?” Tony asked.  
  
“Extracurriculars, DiNozzo. What are they? No one just pulls intel like that out of their ass!” Vance’s lips were pulled tight in anger and his eyes flashed. “If you’ve got little side projects or field trips going on assigned by someone above my head, I’d like to know.”  
  
Tony stared up at him and honestly did not know what to say.  
  
Vance’s face darkened.  
  
“If that were the case, I sure couldn’t tell you about them,” Tony said.  
  
“DiNozzo…” Gibbs warned.  
  
Tony’s head snapped toward Gibbs. “The answer is no.” He looked back at Vance. “No. This time, I’m not anybody else’s errand boy.”  
  
Gibbs had to ask, “Then how in the hell did you know she’d be in there, Tony? How do you even know who she is? I never told you about her.”  
  
“I can’t explain it,” Tony repeated. “Dumb luck? Gut—“   
  
“Don’t even say it,” Vance said. He held Tony’s gaze for a long moment, but Tony didn’t back down.   
  
Truth was, he couldn’t explain it. He just  _knew_ , because he’d seen it. And he hadn’t just seen it, he’d lived it, experienced it, played a part in it. Declaring to both of his bosses that it was some kind of a psychic day dream would send his career straight into a fatal nosedive. A federal agent depended on credibility; psychic  _anything_  was not something that could inspire credibility. So he kept his mouth shut and continued to stare in defiance at a man he’d finally come to know as a friend. He hoped that friend would just let it go.  
  
“Hey,” Gibbs said, touching Vance’s arm. Then he added, “Day’s over and an American hostage and NCIS agent isn’t dead.” He looked at Tony. “Let’s just be grateful.”  
  
Tony looked over in disbelief at the open concern showing on Gibbs’ face. He kept it hidden from Vance, by virtue of their position, but he probably caught a glimpse anyway.  
  
Vance ignored Tony and said to Gibbs, “Talk to him. He looks like hell. Shouldn’t have even been in there.”  
  
Tony flinched. He stared at the tabletop while the conference room’s door closed.  
  
“He’s gone,” Gibbs said.  
  
Tony kept staring at the table. He knew this was a bit of a role reversal for the two of them. Most of the time, it was Tony trying to pry conversation from Gibbs.  
  
Gibbs tried, “Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  
  
“I have,” Tony replied honestly.  
  
“You gonna say anything else?”  
  
“What’s there to say?”  
  
Gibbs studied Tony’s face for a long while. He abruptly changed the subject. “Your plan worked.”  
  
Tony cocked his head. “What plan?”  
  
“Last week’s case.”  
  
“It did?”  
  
“Local law enforcement made a traffic stop. Our person of interest’s vehicle was seen rolling through a stop sign at a railroad crossing.”  
  
“That right, huh.”  
  
“Course they had to wait around a bit. Seems everybody rolls through those stop signs.”  
  
“Well, you know… DC drivers.”  
  
“The LEO delayed the stop. Says his computer went out.”  
  
“That happens.”  
  
“Officer found probable cause to search the vehicle."  
  
"Probable cause."  
  
"Blood stains on the floor mats."  
  
"Our guy wasn't very careful," Tony remarked.   
  
"LEO had already called for back-up," Gibbs went on.   
  
“That right.”  
  
“Found a 9mm handgun that was reported stolen a week before our victim was found dead.”  
  
“Let me guess, Metro’s doing the ballistics and the blood stains. Hey, maybe they'll be a match.”  
  
Gibbs stared at Tony. “I think you already know.”  
  
“I forgot my crystal ball up in my desk, Boss.”  
  
“Some things just can’t be explained.”  
  
"I really didn't know, Gibbs," Tony insisted.  
  
"You knew something."  
  
Tony shrugged, “Can’t argue with that.”  
  
“No, you really can’t.”  
  
They both turned to watch the elephant in the corner of the room. It gave them a myopic gaze at it slowly flapped its huge ears and shifted its weight.  
  
“Well, would you look at that,” Tony heard himself remark. “That’s something else.”

He was in a dark and once crowded place. Lights were flashing in a confusing rhythm. He smelled two things that were startling in their familiarity: blood and gun powder. And in that room, he heard phone call after phone call go unanswered.

“Tony, wake up.” Tim pushed at his arm. “Wake up.”   
  
He came to with a start. He found himself in his own bed, wrapped up in his own sheets. Dawn filtered through the blinds, and Tim stood over him. His mouth was moving, but Tony couldn’t hear a thing.  
  
“I can’t hear you,” he said in a groggy voice he could not modulate.   
  
Slowly, his hearing began filtering back. “You need to see the news,” Tim was saying. “Get up. You need to see it.”  
  
Ungracefully, Tony removed himself from the bed, and he saw Tim studiously look away while he dug around for his boxer shorts. Pulling them up over his ass, Tony stumbled to the living room and squinted at the large television. What he saw made him pause, and it made his gut freeze. “Oh no, no, no.” He put a hand to his mouth.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Tim asked.  
  
“I was there.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Last night.”  
  
“You were at a gay bar last night?”  
  
Tony turned off the TV. “It’s not real.” Then he began to dig around in yesterday’s clothes for his cell phone. “None of this is real.”  
  
Tim repeated his earlier question. “What were you doing at a gay bar last night?”  
  
Finally finding the phone, Tony angrily threw a shirt across the room. “Do I need your permission, McGee?”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“I met someone there. We’ve been…” He stopped himself. Dating? He tried again, "We've been..."  
  
Tim stared at him. “Tony, I didn’t know.”  
  
“What's there to know?”  
  
“Why didn’t you ever—?”  
  
“Ever what?” It was a challenge. “Why are you even here?”  
  
“Because you called me,” Tim answered right away. He gestured at the phone in Tony’s hands. “Several times. Look at the calls. You’ll see. I picked you up down the street from that place, the something Shack.”   
  
“The Elephant Shack,” Tony supplied.  
  
“You were… confused,” Tim said.  
  
Tony began to pace as he scrolled through his phone. Tim was right. Tony had called him at least five times. 1:05, 1:32, 1:49, 2:00, 2:10. “I need to call Patrick. We left together. We decided to leave, and he left me at my car.”  
  
“Who?” Tim asked. He had lost track of the conversation, and his face looked confused.  
  
Tony answered, “Patrick.” He turned the TV on again, but he didn’t know what for. Something to do maybe. The trauma wasn’t yet complete.  
  
The Elephant Shack.  
  
Shooting.  
  
Several dead.  
  
Several dead.  
  
Several dead.  
  
He realized he couldn’t hear the voices. They were gone from his head. They were finally gone. They were—  
  
_YOU! COULD! HAVE! STOPPED! THIS! WHY! DIDN’T! YOU! STOP! THIS!_  
  
“Tony!” Tim yelled, but it sounded like it was so far away. Like he was deep beneath the ocean, an ocean with rolling waves that threatened to never cease.  
  
He suddenly felt the floor beneath him as the seizure wrapped around his head.  
  
Rewind. Rewind, rewind, rewind.

It was peaceful in here, in this strange white tube. He felt he could stay here forever, if they let him.  
  
“Don’t move, Tony. Okay? You’re doing great.”

“Has that elephant always been there?” Tony asked Patrick, gesturing at the wooden elephant looming near the bar.  
  
Patrick glanced at it. “You forgot the elephant?” He asked in disbelief.  
  
Over the years, patrons had written their names with colored markers. Now it was just a mass of squiggly colors.  
  
He added, “Your name is probably on there.”

“You have a mass. It’s in your brain.”  
  
 “I’m sorry. I have a what?”  
  
“It’s about the size of an almond.”  
  
“Well that’s not very big.” Tony thought, obliquely, of Almond Joy candy bars, and the fact that they came in a “fun size.” Just one almond. Maybe he had a “fun sized” almond somewhere behind his skull.  
  
“It’s big enough,” the doctor began to explain, “See, it’s located where—“  
  
It was located somewhere that gave Tony a weird kind of insight. Something science didn’t even know, or couldn’t accurately explain. (He had asked Abby once, and she said some things just couldn’t be explained, not even by science. And she loved science.) Then again, Tony figured his fun-sized almond was mis-programmed or something, because he missed things. Big things.  
  
“Mr DiNozzo?”  
  
A warm hand gripped his shoulder.  
  
Tony refocused on the doctor. They shared each other’s gaze for a long while. The other man’s mind was a busy place, and Tony couldn’t make sense of all the overlapping thoughts. “Pardon?”  
  
“I said the seizures will become more frequent. I want to explain a few scenarios with you.”  
  
“Wait a minute,” Tony stopped him. “This almond, it’s making me…?” He gestured at his head.  
  
The doctor nodded patiently.  _His dementia is already troubling._  
  
“What was that?” Tony asked. He’d managed to pick that thought out from many.  
  
“I hadn’t said anything yet.”  
  
“Oh… So anyway, this almond, it’s making me—“  
  
“Yes, the mental confusion, personality change, seizures, all of that, I’m afraid can be attributed to the mass in your head.”  
  
“The almond,” Tony corrected.  
  
The doctor neither nodded nor shook his head.  
  
“And it’s why I’m psychic, and why I can see what you’re thinking right now.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Psychic, or something like it. I don’t know all the proper terms yet.”  
  
“I want to explain a few scenarios with you,” the doctor tried to get them back on track, not wanting to make a big deal out of Tony’s bizarre statements. The almond — the mass — was in a tricky spot. “We could leave it as it is, and try you on some anti-seizure meds, but I’m afraid your neurological symptoms will intensify.”  
  
“Okay.” Tony nodded.  
  
“Or, there’s a surgical option, followed by radiation treatment.”  
  
“This all sounds really serious, doc.” Tony swallowed and looked around in confusion.  
  
_TAKE! ME! OUT! OR! LEAVE! ME! IN!_  
  
The doctor’s thoughts were loud and clear now.  _He won’t last a month like this._

“I have an almond in my brain,” Tony announced when he saw Tim sitting on a chair nearby.  
  
“I’m sorry, Tones, you have a what?” Tim asked.  
  
“It’s fun-sized,” Tony said. “That’s why I’m psychic now. Funny, right? It’s like that one movie. Trying to think of the title…”  
  
Tim gave him a look. Then he moved the chair closer and played along. “Tell me more about the almond in your head.”  
  
Tony looked up and noticed Gibbs leaning in the doorway. He wasn’t glaring or frowning, just watching.  
  
When Tim saw him, he said, "Tony. Look who's here to see you."

“You said we met for a reason,” Tony said with his eyes closed. He was almost afraid to open them and face whatever this almond-less world would bring. Would it be the same?  
  
The nurse had said the surgery went as planned and had lasted several hours with no complications. She had also said that he still looked quite dashing with no hair.  
  
“Did we?” Tony asked the question again. He felt somebody nearby. Someone he knew to be Patrick.  
  
“We did,” Patrick said.  
  
“So what now?”  
  
“You can wake up now, for one.”  
  
Tony opened his eyes and looked up into Patrick’s brown eyes. “Everything good? I’m not missing half my face? I don’t have a hole in my head? They didn’t cut my leg off?”  
  
“You are entirely yourself, Tony. And why would they cut your leg off? You had a head-almond, not a leg-almond.”  
  
Sighing in relief, Tony sank into the stiff pillows. “You can never be too skeptical. I feel weird. Must be the meds.”   
  
"I like weird," Patrick reminded him. "Tell me more."  
  
But Tony shook his head and reached for the remote that belonged to the little television mounted on the wall overhead.  
  
Patrick stopped him. He said, “You had the entire police department at the Elephant Shack before it could even happen. You saved a lot of people.”  
  
“I can’t remember,” Tony admitted. “How’d I do that again?”  
  
“You tell me.”  
  
Tony looked away and he thought about it for a while. "Some things just can't be explained," he murmured. But finally, he said with a smile, “Hey, did you know I’m bisexual?”  
  
Patrick laughed. “The truth comes out.”

 

 

**THE END**

 

 

_Reviews, thoughts, criticism, ideas, etc are always welcomed. Thank you for reading!_


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